Got my CCW permit ... (Gulp!)

I admit I have been somewhat single-minded on the subject of being allowed ... no "permitted" ... to carry a firearm for my personal and family protection.

I want the right to do it. Period.

As a law-abiding adult citizen of this country, the U.S. Supreme Court and the Second Amendment to the Constitution say that I have that right.

But, obviously, there was some "discussion" over that at the state level.

I previously bridled at the thought that, as a law-abiding citizen of the United States who was trusted to know right-from-wrong elsewhere -- let's say in Florida -- that I suddenly ceased to be trusted to the same degree when I crossed the state line in Wisconsin. Florida, who barely knew me, assumed that I was an adult until and unless I proved otherwise, was content to grant me a CCW permit during my year there.

But coming home to Wisconsin? Not a chance!

OK ... so old news. New year, new state legislature. New CCW law in Dairyland.

I applied for and got my permit, and it just arrived in the afternoon mail.

(BTW ... it seems I wasn't alone in this. The Wisconsin Dept of Justice expected to receive about 100,000 permit applications during the month of November ... but reported that the application was downloaded from their website more than 84,000 times in the first 24 hours of the CCW law taking effect!)

Now, it suddenly hits me. Now I have the rights I want ... and now have to doubly ensure I act responsibly ... even cautiously.

My Florida friend Maj. Norm Belson (a state-licensed CCW instructor and retired police officer) assures all his students that, "If you ever have to use your firearm in your own defense, even if you were perfectly justified in doing so, your life is going to change drastically ... and not necessarily for the better." Norm presents a realistic view to his Concealed Carry Classes, reminding would-be CCW permit holders that upping the ante in an argument by drawing a weapon is folly of the worst sort.

You can access Norm's website here: http://www.staysafestreets.com/

Norm tells me that ambitious prosecutors are quite happy to publicly pillory a legally armed citizen who had to fire shots in his own defense. He added that he's known quite a few armed citizens who went bankrupt in a big way, having to sell their homes at times to come up with legal fees. Moreover, some civil attorneys are more than willing to play upon a jury's emotions with sad tales of woe caused their clients after the Big Bad Gun Guy shot their client ... and go for big payoffs in civil suits against armed citizens.

But Norm is also the guy who typified his fellow police officers as "...armed historians ..." who show up too late to prevent crime, but can only really document it after-the-fact. He stresses repeatedly that a citizens defense is in his or her own hands. "When seconds count," he says, "the cops are minutes away."

So now that I am again legally an Armed Citizen, what are my rights? More importantly, what will Wisconsin police officers expect of me should I ever have to use my gun in self-defense?

Been talking with a few of my regular customers, who also happen to be cops. One in particular seemed non-plussed at the idea of so many more firearms Milwaukee's streets all of a sudden. "The bad guys have always been able to get guns," he said, "but now maybe they'll think twice before attempting a crime ... because they know the good guys have guns, too."

He added that armed citizens coming into contact with cops in their official capacity need to be cooperative and cordial, and VERY forthcoming about the CCW permit in their wallet.

"Even if it's just a traffic stop, identify yourself up front as a permit holder, tell the officer where your gun is, and then ask how he wants to proceed." He added that permit holders shouldn't feel offended if the officer temporarily hangs onto the firearms...but that they should definitely WAIT to be told what to do about the firearm in their holster. "For God's sake, don't be reaching for it!" he said.

As my cop friend and neighbor George Sanquist says, "There's going to be no question about it ... I get all the guns for awhile."

I recall reading about Nevada troopers who, responding to an armed citizen's call about a breakin at his jewelry store, not only confiscated the innocent citizen's weapon ... but put the VICTIM in cuffs "... for everybody's protection," insisted the rookie trooper.

Obviously a training issue for that police department.

Googling Wisconsin firearms law attorneys, many lawyers' websites now are advising all CCW permit holders to carry around not only a loaded weapon, but also a reliable attorney's number. One even went to far as to suggest that, if an armed citizen is involved in a shooting, they should dial the attorney FIRST ... and 9-1-1 second.

Not sure how this is all going to shake out in the long run.

But as someone who spends quite a bit of time searching his own conscience, I can tell you that -- if I ever have to use a firearm to defend my family -- it's going to take all the fun out of gun ownership.

But there's still that old saw that goes, "I'd rather be tried by 12, than carried by 6"

OK ... so my home isn't my castle????

Let me get this straight ... I am NOT allowed to defend myself against an intruder in Wisconsin?

Hmmm ... this bears some looking into.

So let's say that I'm enjoying an evening at home, stretched out on the couch, and I hear a commotion outside my door. Before I can get to the door, it bangs open and a very large, very drunk fellow subject barges in and demands to know what I'm doing in his house. Even from across the room, I can smell the beer on his breath ... but it doesn't stop me from noticing the fact that his hands are balled into fists the size of small hams ... and he's pissed as hell, and coming straight at me.

OK, got that scene firmly fixed in your mind? Let's try another scenario.

Kathy and I are asleep upstairs. Being a light sleeper, I can't help but hear the tinkle of breaking glass downstairs. Throwing on a robe, I creep to the top of the stairs. All I can see in the dark at the bottom of the stairs is a burly arm carrying a baseball bat. (After a lifetime of working in darkrooms, I have excellent night vision.) No one in my family OWNS a baseball bat, much less uses one as a "master key" to open the patio door.

(Q) What do these two scenarios have in common? (A) Wisconsin lawmakers say I don't have any real options to defend Kathy, Zak and myself.

According to Wisconsin legislators, my only recourse is to use pepper spray on my assailant and dial 9-1-1... and hopefully keep away from swinging fists, baseball bats or worse. (According to a retired police friend of mine, in such situations the police are little better than armed historians. "When seconds count, the police are only minutes away.")

You see, in Wisconsin, a person's home ISN'T his/her castle, because we have no Castle Doctrine in our state laws here. We are obliged to retreat before home intruders.

Castle Doctrine exists in 31 states, and is defined thus: A homeowner CAN use deadly force to defend himself or his property, under the following conditions:

*An intruder must be making (or have made) an attempt to unlawfully and/or forcibly enter an occupied residence, business or vehicle.The intruder must be acting illegally—e.g. the Castle Doctrine does not give the right to attack officers of the law acting in the course of their legal duties

*The occupant(s) of the home must reasonably believe that the intruder intends to inflict serious bodily harm or death upon an occupant of the home

*The occupant(s) of the home must reasonably believe that the intruder intends to commit some other felony, such as arson or burglary

*The occupant(s) of the home must not have provoked or instigated an intrusion, or provoked or instigated an intruder to threaten or use deadly force

*The occupant(s) of the home may be required to attempt to exit the house or otherwise retreat (this is called the "Duty to retreat" and most self-defense statutes referred to as examples of "Castle Doctrine" expressly state that the homeowner has no such duty).

We almost had a reasonable law here, once.

The Wisconsin Assembly passed a Castle Doctrine bill in 2007, but the heavily-liberal State Senate allowed the law to die. The bill would have created immunity for an act of self-defense for any person who uses deadly force while in his/her residence and is not engaged in illegal activity.

Liberal politicians scoffed at the proposal, calling it the "Shoot the Milkman Law." (Although, I should point out that, even here in the Dairy State of Wisconsin, we haven't had milkmen in decades ... but I digress.) Media loudmouths decried a return to the shootouts of the Wild West if such a law were to pass.

But in Florida, where I was licensed to carry a weapon, no such state of armed anarchy ever materialized, despite the fact that Florida takes Castle Doctrine one step further to the "Stand your Ground Law." As my cop friend explained it, if someone was breaking into my condo (I lived on the ground floor,) all the rights in the case were with me -- the law-abiding citizen -- not the intruder.

A friend of mine on the West Coast is probably going to get pissed when she reads this. She'll likely say something like, "So, if Zak is coming home late some night, and had to break in because he forgot his keys, you'd load up a handgun and shoot?" She makes an excellent point.

The answer, by the way, to Mary's question, is "No." (Besides, if Zak ever breaks into this house because he left his keys and lost his mind, thus preventing him from using his cell phone to gain entrance, he's got bigger worries.)

As an armed citizen and resident of Wisconsin, I may have -- hopefully soon -- some rights to self defense in such a case. However, I truly feel I also have the responsibility to myself and my family to ensure that deadly force is necessary and that no other way exists to protect myself and my property.

But I want the right to make that call! I want the backing of the law!

But I don't expect such a law to make it any easier on me.

This sort of reminds me of the time I was teaching my daughter Johanna to drive. A teenage girl, she was a little giddy at the prospect of freedom, as symbolized by the car keys I'd placed in her hands. I quickly quashed that with a dose of reality.

"This isn't just a car," I told her, "it's a killing machine if you use it wrong!" She quickly doused the giggles and got her head back into the driver's seat.

That "killing machine" label, obviously, applies even more to the .40 cal Springfield Armory XD pistol I now intend to keep handy. I feel that having the pistol nearby, and not needing it, is FAR better than needing it some dark night, but not having it.

But frankly, Mary's "friendly fire" scenario is going all-but-guarantee that I probably won't sleep any more soundly because of it.

Passion for photography? Oh, yeah ... I remember that!

Thanks to my daughter, Christine, I was introduced to a young (younger than me, anyway,) firebrand of a photographer today.

Erinn Finlan, red-headed, mid-30s, enters the room about 15 minutes ahead of herself, so barely contained and energetic she is. She's tall enough to be an imposing figure ... I would say she HAS to be tall in order to compactly package up the passion and energy for photography she brings with her.

Until she walked in, I had almost forgotten about that passion part.

You see, I have always loved being a photographer. I love everything about it.

I love the gear. I love the math. I love the mechanics and electronics. I love the imaging. I love looking at photographs. I love shooting photographs. I love looking down at my side and seeing my well-worn Domke bag full of Nikons and lenses. I love talking photography. I love teaching photography. Formerly, I even loved the darkroom work, even though I came out into the light at the end of the day with eyestrain and smelling of Sodium Hypo-sulfate or Formaldehyde.

So like many of my generation, who were always taught "Do what you love and the money will follow," I began shooting for a living.

I discovered I was quite good at it ... not only the image formation part, but -- and sometimes especially -- the customer care part of it. I could make a client do what I wanted them to do (so as to get a good shot,) and yet never made them feel as though I was pushing too hard. As my not-so-sainted father used to say, "Diplomacy (and sales) is the art of being able to tell someone to go to hell, and phrasing it in such a way, that they're happy to pack for the trip."

I'm frankly pretty good at that too.

One of my daughters says I turn into a one-man Mariachi band when shooting a wedding. "It's the Dad show," Johanna says. The joke around my studio always was, "There are only two people allowed to shine at one of Bill's weddings: the Bride and Bill ...the Groom is just stage-dressing."

Kathy rationalizes this process as a sense of being "... lost at sea '..." on the part of the bridal party, most of whom have never undergone the whole marriage-day thing before. Thus, when I stand up in front of everyone after the service, and say "Attention, Class! Let us now briefly review 'Bill's Rules of Group Photography,' shall we? Oh, Bill would be me!" I carry it off with enough comedic timing that everyone is glad that someone seems to know what to do next.

I liken it to being a babysitter with a camera, or perhaps an entertainer for kids' parties. But it works. My clients are always happy afterwards.

Did I mention I was good at it?

I love the sense of completion I get having met a client's expectations at the end of a shoot. Oh, yeah ... taking money for something that feels like playtime is pretty cool, too. (Although, as playtime goes, I still come home exhausted and soaked with sweat at the end of a 9-hour wedding shoot.)

But, eventually, taking money for doing something you love does seem to take some of the luster from it.

And I've been shooting for a living for so long I almost forgot about the passion part.

You see, when you shoot for a living, you are meeting Other people's needs. You are executing their vision. It's your artistry, for sure. It's your technique. It's your eye.

But they're mostly other people's images. Possibly even other people's passions, too.

But talking with another photographer today, one who is young enough to still be passionate about the 'biz,' and yet old enough to have already lived through a few photographic nightmares of her own, was not only refreshing, it was ... stimulating.

As Kathy and Christine developed the familiar "Dan-Quayle-deer-in-the-headlights" look that non-shooters get sometimes, Erinn and I got quickly dived into f/Stops and focal lengths, go-to lenses, strobe and guide numbers, and location scouting.

Beyond that, looking at her work, I feel "reignited." Self-taught as a photographer, she has a killer eye for composition ... and the courage to break the rules that many of us classically trained shooters had beaten into us at an early age.

Regardless of what comes next, I am determined to go out more with Nikons, perhaps a little less with firearms, and find out what I have left to say photographically of my own.

Thanks, Christine. Thanks, Erinn. I needed that.

Ten Years After--Who really remembers anymore? (Ans: We do!)

We in the military often are accused of being slow to adjust to change and the passage of time. We are told to "get over it and move on."

Get over it? I don't think so.

After the Imperial Japanese attacks on the US Navy Base at Pearl Harbor, HI, the entire country was aflame, just as the sad hulks continued smoldering away at their moorings on Battleship Row. Everyone in this nation was shocked and angry ... and wanted to hit back. Records show that the nation stayed involved, stayed angry, throughout most of World War II. Everyone was directly or indirectly involved with the war effort.

There were meatless and wheatless days at home, so US troops in the field wouldn't go hungry. Gas was rationed. Nylon was rationed. Scrap metal drives insured there was enough metal in the foundries to make armaments and munitions. Women's groups would meet weekly to roll bandages for the troops. Recruiters' offices were mobbed. Families proudly hung out flags with service stars, quietly boasting how many family members were in uniform. Some families shared their grief by hanging out gold service stars, mutely stating for all to see that some in their family had paid the ultimate price for freedom. US and Allied battles merited front page coverage in every newspaper.

We as a people, arose and answered the Call to Arms.

Now? Ehh.

Except for that tiny percentage of Americans actually in military families, almost no one is connected to the war effort. Most high school graduates are far more worried about getting into school than they are getting into their country's service.

Daily I talk to people who tell me that military service is fine for those who can't get into a good school, but their kids are going to college to get a good job. Military recruiters tell me they still treated like pariahs in Milwaukee Public Schools, even though statistics show that only 1 out of 4 high school graduates are actually cut out to finish college.

The US populace is far more interested in the fact that the Green Bay Packers beat the New Orleans Saints in the NFL opener recently, than in the fact that the job of making this country safe against terrorism is not yet finished!

I seriously doubt whether anyone in this country has actually forgotten the events of 9/11. Even if they did, the plethora of TV and Internet images depicting flaming crashes and falling towers will remind them what happened on that otherwise beautiful fall day ten years ago.

But as I reminded a Marine friend of mine on Facebook today, the nation has lost sight of its sense of anger ... righteous indignation ... of having been stabbed in the heart for virtually no other reason than the fact that we don't follow a 13th Century nightmare version of Islam.

But we in the military are your corporate memory on this issue. We remember not only the events, we remember also feeling the wrongness of what happened, and how we individually and collectively vowed to help right those wrongs.

We, each of us, vowed to carry the fight to the enemy that had reached across oceans to kill us. We, each of us, vowed not to quit and leave the job half-done.

I recall one of the Guantanamo detainees -- a Saudi Arabian cardiac surgeon who studied at Oxford and who speaks better English than I do. He likened all Americans to "insects," saying that if he could push some button somewhere that would instantly annihilate our babies, he would already have done so and lost not a moment's sleep over it.

Like insects, he said, we needed to be exterminated and forgotten about by history.

We in the military are still cold inside at the thought of those who wish to kill as many of us as they can. We are still "cold angry."

This post, then, is a plea to the rest of you.

Never forget. Never forget!

Jury Duty -- a Necessary Pain in the Ass

"In a democracy, making law is like making sausage. You may or may not love the final product, but the process for making both of them will probably make you sick." old Lawyer's aphorism

I've been required for the second time in 16 years to perform jury duty.

The fact that I'm sitting here in the jury assembly room, blogging and updating FaceBook, says much about the key survival tools for a prospective juror ... the ability to endure REALLY uncomfortable chairs, surly civil servants and hours of boredom while waiting to be selected for a trial.

I came REAL close to weaseling out. I mean, there's not much going for this gig: You only get paid about $18 per day. (Even in a tanking economy, I make a good deal more than that at work, even working part time.) But wait, it gets worse. In addition to almost no money, there's also no free lunch, no free coffee, and -- Hell -- not even free parking!!!

I came THIS close to weaseling out and asking for a medical excuse. I really did.

I wish I could claim it was my better nature and high civic virtues that made me go through with it ... but it wasn't anything like that. I was just too lazy to have to jump through all those hoops to get excused. (Maybe they design the system that way for that very reason, I'm thinking)

So anyway, here I am, digesting my $8.56 lunch from the courthouse cafeteria, listening to some of my fellow jurors snore away during their post-prandial naps, trying not to watch the second Sandra Bullock movie of the day on the jury room television .... but I'm kind of glad I'm here.

Having served once before on this gig, I can tell you that the courthouse is ALWAYS the Great Leveler.

It is within these magnificent stonepile courthouses, scattered at county seats all across America, that we all come before the scrutiny of our fellow citizens. (I know, I know ... you're about to mention O. J. Simpson and Casey Anthony. Fuck them.)

Most of only enter these halls when there's some sort of trouble or life-changing event (marriage, divorce, birth, death, buying a home, etc.) Or when we or someone in our family is in trouble.

That's when your ability to look me and my fellow jurors in the eye and speak the truth will be the determining factor in your status.

... if you can wake my fellow jurors up, that is.

OK ... next? (No, seriously ... now what?)

"The Mills of God grind slowly ... but they grind exceedingly small" Rudyard Kipling

OK ... time to take a deep, collective breath and consider what has been accomplished here.

Most pundits are in agreement that this is certainly NOT an end to terrorism worldwide. (Hell, there is enough state-sponsored terrorism to more than fill any putative gap left by the mass murderer Osama bin Laden.)

Interviews with families who lost loved ones in the attacks on 9/11 show that this certainly won't bring back lost loves, nor even provide all that much closure.

Initial polling shows that, with the economy still in the tank and gas prices well over $4 per gallon, Pres. Obama's popularity may temporarily soar ... but it's gonna' be a long haul for him until the elections of November, 2012. (Nothing is shorter than the collective memory of the American electorate, it seems.)

OK ... so what, then? What's been achieved?

Balance...sort of. (A little, at least)

Given the sheer size of the damage done to us on our own soil on 9/11, we had to do this. We simply had to hunt him down and kill him to bring the scales of the universe back into balance. To simply shrug it off and go on about our lives would have called into question our basic values and outlook on the worth of an American citizen's life. We simply couldn't let this man remain alive with impugnity.

We followed established precedent. Remember Timothy McVeigh? The Oklahoma City bomber? Executing him in federal prison certainly didn't ease the loss of loved ones there ... but the US Government showed the world that if you declare open war on the US or its citizens, you will be hunted and hounded to (literally in bin Laden's case) the ends of the Earth.

The only thing you get by killing Americans is dead.

For his pains, the only thing Osama bin Laden got was being cut off, surrounded, and -- in the end -- very messily dead and dumped in an unmarked grave in the lonely ocean.

Terrorism will go on. Killings will go on. But the point is made.

You want to see Allah? Go out of your way to fuck with us and we'll facilitate the meeting ... no matter how long it takes.

TOP TEN signs that Spring has come to Wisconsin

After another long winter in Wisconsin, smart Cheeseheads know to look for the Top Ten signs that Spring has come again to Wisconsin:

10. The long rows of snow fence lining the highways disappear and are replaced by long lines of orange traffic construction barrels .

9. It's 80 degrees out today. Tomorrow, it's going down to 34 again. No big deal.

8. You've brought out your T-shirts and shorts, but don't feel like putting away your heavy coat just yet.

7. By the same token, your patio furniture now shares the front yard with your snow shovels.

6. The glacier-sized piles of dirty snow are gradually receding and reveal dead, brown grass beneath ... not to mention hundreds of frozen dog turds.

5. Migratory birds have returned to the trees outside your house. So have the mosquitoes.

4. You are nearly blinded by the light reflected off of the fish-belly-white legs and arms of your now shorts-wearing neighbors.

3. It's only April, but you're already pestering your building's property manager for news of the pool reopening.

2. Even though I work in a windowless building, I'm actually starting to CARE what the weather is like outside.

And the Number ONE sign that Spring has come again to Wisconsin is (drumroll!):

1. I went and took my Trek Series 7200 mountain bike out of Winter storage. (Can't wait to ride!)

Republicans vs Democrats: Enough already ... run the government!

"In a mature society, 'Civil Servant' is semantically equal to 'Civil Master.'" Author Robert Heinlein, The Notebooks of Lazarus Long

Heinlein, one of my favorite curmudgeon authors, commented often that democracy ain't perfect and it surely ain't pretty ... but it's better than anything anyone else has come up with so far. But, jeez, it can be irritating to watch our politicians and civil servants behaving like spoiled children, can't it?

Show of hands now: Who really thinks that, if the government shuts down in a few days, anyone of us is really going to notice right away? Didn't think so. (Frankly, I'd kind of welcome the peace and quiet for a short while.)

I for one am sick and tired of hearing the spoiled children we elect to state and national office pointing fingers at each other, and threatening to hold their breath unless the other side relents.

These politicos of both stripes always seem to forget, once they're elected, that MOST of their constituents live quite happily in the political middle. Despite that, once these people make it to Congress or the Statehouse, they spend most of their time positioning themselves against each other and moving as a group towards the political extremes... INSTEAD of actually representing us and doing the peoples' work.

I mean, wouldn't it be nice if, instead of attaching ideological manifestos (disguised as amendments) to a simple budget bill, these politicians actually grew a "set" and fixed social security? Balanced the budget? Came up with genuine national healthcare?

To any of my handful of younger readers note this: I'm going to start collecting Social Security this Summer and in all likelihood I'll get it and my Navy pension until the end of my days. You guys? Maybe not so much.

It is the decided best interests of anyone NOT a Baby Boomer, anyone who may NOT have Social Security to fall back on, to get busy and hold your elected official's collective feet to the fire. They won't quit having these political temper tantrums in office unless WE make them!

And as for the Wisconsin public workers' unions, I say, respectfully, "Having been one of you, I value your work and honor your work ethic. But all other unions have already had to give back tone in this rotten economy in order to save their jobs. Now it's your turn. Get over it and get back to work."

Where am I going? Why am I headed downhill and why am I in this handbasket?

It's official. I'm old and getting older, and it's scary as shit.

Have you ever noticed how we humans tend to look at milemarkers in our lives since we tend to have difficulty focusing on the totality of our existence? Well, a couple of weeks ago, I passed a huge milemarker and I'm now officially bound for scary uncharted waters ... old age.

You see, a couple of weeks ago, I filed for early Social Security benefits, and told my supervisors at work that I'm only going to work part-time, once the benefits arrive in June. Scary, right?

I always knew S.S. was there (for us Baby Boomers at least ... God knows what my kids are going to do if politicians don't grow a set and fix this.) But S.S. was something my grandparents relied upon. My mom lived on her benefits and a small pension from her job as a credit manager. Social Security checks are what we associate with widows and wizened elders, as they slowly make their way to the bank to cash their checks. For many, the monthly check means the difference between eating groceries and eating dog food.

OK ... I really hope it won't come down to that! With a Navy and a small City of Milwaukee pension, I ought to be OK if I keep working part-time, and if Kathy and I can carefully manage expenses. (crossing fingers, here)

But jeez, do I really want to go there? Do I really want to quit working full-time and depend on an unreliable government to take care of me and Kathy?

Quitting full-time work is committing myself to this new life. I officially surrender my status as "relevant" in this cash-and-credit-driven society. I officially become one of those old codgers I always used to pity whenever I saw them in the stores. I always hoped I'd never be one of those old guys who had "nothing to do."

I've already surrendered half my worklife identity by retiring from the Navy. No more can I tell people that I'm a Lieutenant Commander and a Combat Cameraman. Now I have to tell my customers I'm a "retired" Navy Combat Cameraman. But having a full-time job at least partially related to photography (selling cameras) entitles me to a certain amount of status in others' eyes, I think.

Now having only a part-time job officially makes me an old dodderer. Hell, what's next? Greeter at WalMart?

And yet, I am reminded of the quip that "No one, lying on their death bed, ever wished they'd spent more time at the office."

I remind myself that my "Bucket List" is calling to me. I really DO have places to go and less time to go there than I used to have.

I also am reminded, especially after watching my wife beat a life-threatening disease (You go, Girl!), that life and old-age won't wait for me to get over myself.

I also am reminded of the soreness and pain that comes from standing on a sales floor for eight hours a day. As my knees daily remind me, I'm simply not 26 anymore.

On a more positive note, I LOVE the fact that I'm going to have time to work on some of my long-back-burnered projects. (Kathy, Sweetie, I apologize in advance for doing things like putting up shelves in the mailbox, carpeting the ferret cage, and alphabetizing your sock drawer.)

Finally, I've always prided myself on facing scary shit and not letting it rule me.

For instance:

* I'm scared shitless of the deep, black water churned up by the ship's screws, as I imagine myself falling overboard and falling forever into the deep, cold blackness of the ocean. Always have been. So what did I go and do? Joined the Navy and learned SCUBA diving, 'natch.

* I've got a bad case of acrophobia. Being up in tall buildings weakens my knees. So what did I do? Asked for Aircrew training as an aerial photographer, whose job it is to literally hang out of helicopters on a gunner's belt and shoot aerial intel photos.

Come to think of it, as scary as old age and irrelevance are, maybe I can do this after all.

Right before his death at age 97, television show host Art Linkletter authored his last of several books, titled, "Old Age is not for Sissies."

Amen, Brother!

Football is a game, not a religion ... except maybe in Wisconsin

OK, I admit it. Never was into football much. I guess I never did get it ... the adoration we as a nation heap upon these millionaires who make a living chasing a ball around a field. I mean, they play a GAME for a living ... a game ... like checkers ... or (better yet) Monopoly.

Frankly, I get it even less now. Allow me to elucidate.

I live in Wisconsin, where the state bird is the mosquito, the state symbol is the orange traffic construction barrel, and the state motto is "Go Packers." The Packers' arch nemesis, the Evil that Dwells in Chicago, (just about an hour's drive south of the state line,) must never be named aloud without also adding "Da Bears Still Suck."

There's something about Illinois in general, and Chicago in particular, that is just awful in the eyes of most Wisconsinites. One of the most oft-heard jokes up here is: (Q) What's the difference between a Cheesehead and a Dickhead? (A) The Illinois state line.

(OK, I realize this isn't all that unusual. I recall serving in Cuba with some soldiers from the Rhode Island National Guard. Some of the soldiers were from neighboring Massachusetts, and were generally referred to as the "Masshole Contingent.") But then again, Massachusetts and Rhode Island don't wrap themselves around two archrival NFL football teams like we do.

So the Packers beat the Bears yesterday and are on their way to the Superbowl.

Who cares?

Am I the only one who thinks that all this drunken celebration is unseemly in the midst of two wars? Am I the only one who thinks that few, if any, of these millionaire jocks are worth of all this adulation? How many of these millionaires show the same loyalty to US that their fans show them? (Once upon a time, we in Wisconsin actually BELIEVED that Brett Favre was loyal to his fans and would never leave. Hah!) How many of these NFL players have ever taken their massive wealth and truly helped helped others? Then again, how many of these steroidal behemoths have prison records?

Are they really worth all this? How have they helped improve the human condition?

You want some heroes in your lives? You need look no further than:

* the public school teacher who wonders how she can afford to purchase school supplies -- or even coats! -- for her impoverished students;

* the firefighter who, in defiance of all instinct and logic, rushes INTO a burning building;

* the solder, sailor, airman or Marine who's shivvering in a fighting position and can't remember the last hot meal

Heroes are all around us, and really deserve adulation. Damned few of them play football for a living.